


With You, I Am Home.

by magicites



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicites/pseuds/magicites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An afternoon in the life of a couple of dumbasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You, I Am Home.

**Author's Note:**

> ONE DAY I WILL WRITE SOMETHING THAT'S NOT JOHNKAT. But I was having OTP feelings so I wrote this entire thing in my friend Alex's submit box on Tumblr. What can I say, I like pale Johnkat just as much as I like flushed Johnkat.
> 
> And I really like the headcanon that moirails are ridiculously affectionate with each other.

You hate to admit it, but the human version of 50 First Dates is almost as good as the troll version. _Almost._ Even if Human Drew Berrymore’s acting is about as emotive as a pile of rocks compared to Troll Drew Barrymore, you’re still unsurprised to feel a few tears running down your cheeks when she discovers that her life for the past year has been a lie.

You’re too wrapped up in the moment to notice clumsy footsteps growing louder with each second. You only look up (with a scowl) when you hear an obnoxious voice say, “hey Karkat!” over brilliantly written dialogue.

There’s no time for you to react before too many goddamn pounds of Egbert roll over the couch and land directly on top of you. You grunt loudly with the force, and the stupid fuckhead has the audacity to laugh at you.

“Get off,” you wheeze, grabbing his shoulders and shoving him off, but he scrambles for your wrists and ends up pulling you off as well. He hits the wood floor with a loud thud, and you land completely uninjured on top of him.

“Ow. Fuck, that kind of hurt,” he says, patting around for the remote he knocked off the couch with the force of his sheer stupidity. He finds it a few moments later, and pauses the movie so you don’t miss any more of it.

You grab his glasses and reposition them as a gesture of thanks. “You deserved it,” you tell him, and he wraps his arms around your waist and hugs you until your lungs struggle for air. You pound your fists against his chest, belatedly noticing that he’s wearing that stupid as hell crab t-shirt he got you from a tourist stand in Long Beach last summer. How the hell does that even fit him? Ugh. Whatever, you didn't really want it in the first place.

His death grips relents enough for you to take a deep breath of air without dying.

“You always get so sad when you watch that movie, Kitkat. I wanted to cheer you up,” he whispers into your hair.

“It has a happy ending, not like you would know,” you grumble. “You’re too fucking impatient to ever watch the entire thing with me, even though I sit through every last one of your mind-numbingly idiotic action flicks.”

He snorts. “One, you always fall asleep halfway through, and two, I’ve never watched the whole thing because it’s complete shit.”

It’s pretty hard to fight for this movie. Egbert has a point. “It’s not…that bad.”

He presses a finger against your lips and shooshes you quietly. “Nooo, Karkitten, it’s complete shit. There’s no denying it,” he whispers.

You open your mouth just enough to be able to bite his finger. He pulls it away with a yelp. Fucker completely deserved that. “Is there any possible way for me to stop you from giving me a new asinine nickname every 20 seconds?”

“Nope!”

You groan. Honestly, you don’t know why you live with this doofus, moirail traditions be damned. In his dumb human culture, matesprits are supposed to go off gallivanting into the sunset together. Frankly, you think that is really fucking stupid; matesprits aren’t built to deal with each other the way moirails are. And the lousy shitheads in this country wonder why the divorce rate is so high.

Though sometimes you think of pale divorcing the idiot you are currently laying on. This is one of those moments.

“What about…Karkaida?” He asks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to be a pun off of,” you say, not even bothering to turn your sentence into a question.

“Oh yeah, we don’t have cicadas up here. Basically they’re this kind of bug they have in Texas and like, Japan too I guess because I always hear them chirping in weird animes.”

You lightly pap his cheek. “Get to the point.”

A light blush sweeps across his cheeks. “Hehe, sorry. But you know how you make that weird chirp-buzz sound whenever I blow raspberries on your stomach?” Now it’s your turn to blush. You bury your face in his chest and try to push his head away, but he doesn’t budge. “That’s the sound a cicada makes!”

“No. That’s a dumb nickname,” you mutter into his (your) shirt. “Don’t use it.”

The dumbass just can’t stop laughing today, can he? “What if I called you Karwaii? Because that’s what you’re being right now. A Karwaiikat.”

“Stoooooooop,” you groan into his shirt, taking entire fistfuls of it into your hands. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean but I’m already knee deep in the throes of my own second-hand embarrassment.”

He kisses one of your horns, and to your sheer horror, the tingling sensation forces a god forsaken _giggle_ out of your throat. You clamp it off a split second after the disgusting sound comes out. That only encourages the asshole to do it again. “What about Karkles?” He asks in between kisses. You are nothing more than a pile of giggles and you swear to strangle John Egbert to death the moment the nice, heavy and content feeling that’s settled into your limbs goes away. “Doesn’t Terezi call you that?”

“No.”

“Huh.” He grows bored with your horns, and one arm releases it’s grip on your back in order to worm its way down to your hands. He gently pries it off of him, and laces his fingers between yours. “Karcutie.” He decides.

Your nose wrinkles up in disgust. “Fuck no.”

“Fine then,” John says, gently tugging on your hand. “Karcrab, because you’re always such a crabby asshole.”

You frown at him. “You’re just asking for a fight, aren’t you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “So the tiny little crab boy wants to strife me? I have all the mangrit, dude. You’re not going to win.”

Your cuddle session quickly turns into a half-assed wrestling match. It only takes a few minutes before it ends, and while you put up a valiant fight, John has an extremely unfair height and weight advantage over you. You end with the both of you on laying on your sides, his arms wrapped tightly around your middle and pulling you close.

You’re pretty sure they call this spooning, but the term sounds pretty obscene, so you decide against using it.

“Voiture chat,” he says. You roll over to face him.

“The fuck does that mean.”

“It’s French. Car cat.”

“Oh, haha, how fucking funny. I’m splitting my sides here at your fabulous joke, John.” The grin he gets whenever he thinks of a new prank spreads across his face, and you pap the living shit out of him until it goes away.

The conversation dies, leaving both of you in a comfortable silence. He presses his forehead against yours, and you can feel his breath on your face. It smells like hot Cheetos and it’s kind of gross, but you’re too wrapped up in feeling pale for this loser to move. You reach over and trace your fingertips against the shell of his ear. They feel cold. You move to fluffing your fingers through his hair instead.

You’re the blood guy, not the time guy, so you have no idea how many minutes pass before John decides to open his hideous seedflap again.

“Moirallegiance is weird,” he says.

This is quite possibly the stupidest goddamn thing you have ever heard.

“Moirallegiance is a pretty simple quadrant,” you shoot back.

“That’s because you grew up with them, numbnuts. I didn’t.” He says, and ok, he has a point. “Like, the feelings are weird.”

You snuggle into him, tucking your head underneath his chin. “It’s pretty straightforward to me.”

“Well, like,” he pauses, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. You’d kiss him right on his dumb buck teeth but you’re afraid that might feel really weird. Besides, you’re too comfortable to move, so under his chin you stay.

“It’s strange. I always thought I’d find someone who I’d fall in love with.” He must be able to fell your frown through stupid windy god powers or whatever, because he presses an urgent kiss to the top of your head. “Not that this isn’t love! Like, bright red love. The standard kind of romance you see all over the place.”

“You thought you’d get a matesprit,” you clarify.

“Yeah, exactly! I thought I’d just find a pretty girl, and that we’d fall in love and I’d propose to her and we’d get married in a big church. And then we’d move into a house like the one I grew up in, and have two kids. I thought I’d be…well, normal.”

“You thought you wouldn’t be stuck with a worthless alien,” you say.

“No! Well, yes, but stop putting yourself down. You’re not worthless. Besides, I like this more.”

You nuzzle into his neck. “You do?”

He laughs. “Yes. This is a lot more calming. It’s kind of like one of those days when it’s really warm and not all humid and gross, so you go in the background and lay down on a blanket all afternoon. Oh, and don’t get a sunburn afterwards.”

You consider it to be a pretty accurate comparison. Matespritship is bright and exciting, and each touch makes little sparks of light explode in your veins.

But moirallegiance is calm and safe. It’s the comfort of a warm home on a winter’s day. It’s spending all morning in John’s bed making fun of reality tv. It’s him teaching you how to cook, and not wanting to die of shame when you fuck dinner up. It’s hugs and gentle pecks and a sense of unbreakable trust.

“I don’t really want that type of relationship,” John continues. You listen to him quietly, because in a time like this, that’s what a good moirail does. “I’m just going to get tired of them and leave. That kind of love doesn’t really bind people together, you know? To be honest…I don’t really know if I’ll ever actually like someone that way. I don’t really want to, either.”

No stupid. Don’t make this about yourself, because it’s not. God fucking damn it, why do you have to be such an insecure asshole. Stop being a pathetic pile of vomit and stop thinking that his feelings on redrom will affect you, because they don’t.

John runs his hands across your back, making all of the tenseness winding you up like a coil melt away. “Shoosh, Karkat. Karkitty. Karkitten.” You don’t even feel the need to hit him for the stupid nickname. Moirallegiance is fucking magic. “Calm down! Haha, I wouldn’t trade this for the world. I really like our relationship. It’s like being best friends with someone, but more.”

“It’s like finding a piece of yourself you never knew was missing,” you say. You feel him nod.

“And I think the weirdest part of moirallegiance is the physical part. Hell, on the nights you don’t sleep in your recuperacoon you sleep with me. And then there’s this,” he wiggles his arms for emphasis, “and the fact that I’m pretty sure I have kissed every single part of your body. Except your weird troll junk. That’s kind of gross. I don’t want to kiss that.”

You snort in amusement. “I don’t want to ever go near that revolting meat stick you call genitalia. How do you even find a partner that isn’t instantly horrified.”

He laughs. “There’s a reason a lot of people do it without the lights on.”

Because you’re both immature little shits, that sends the both of you into a flurry of giggles. The big, dopey grin working it’s way across your face is unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You wiggle up to show it to him, which makes him smile like…like…

Fuck, you don’t even know. Now’s not the time for dumb comparisons. Now’s the time for relishing the feeling of being so unbelievably pale for someone you think you could burst.

He gently taps the tip of your nose, and instead of booping it, he makes a small beeping sound instead. You stare at him blankly until he pecks your nose in apology.

You don’t have anything to say for once, and you don’t have anything to do, so you simply close your eyes and snuggle closer.

“How about instead of laying on the floor and fucking up both of our backs, we take this snuggle session somewhere else? You’re going to fall asleep soon anyways.”

“Fuck getting up.” You tell him. You’ve been laying on the floor long enough for it to be warm, and the comfortable sleepiness overtaking your body protests any and all movement. “I’m going to lay right the fuck here.”

“Well I’m not. I like not feeling like I’m 80 after what’s supposed to be a _refreshing_ nap. You can sleep on the floor yourself.” John pulls out of your grasp, and you’re about to mutter insults until he gets right back where he belongs, but he scoops you up in your arms, causing an entirely different set of curses to fly out of your mouth.

“Dude, shut up. You’re going to thank me for this later,” he says, clamping a hand over your mouth. You can’t bite it, but you can lick it. He grimaces, but doesn’t put you down. Goddammit.

He takes you to his (occasionally yours as well) bedroom and literally tosses you onto the bed. You land in a mess of flailing limbs and angry shouting, completely messing up the once nicely made bed and getting tangled in the sheets. John spends a good few minutes just laughing at you as you get even more stuck. Eventually he takes mercy on you and climbs on, gently untangling you from the cotton deathtrap.

“Hehe, you can be such a doofus sometimes,” he says. You smack his shoulder. “Aww, come here, Karkat.” He holds his arms open, and you’re dumb enough to crawl into his hold.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“We’re not friends anymore, dillweed.”

“Yeah, but we’re still moirails.”

You plant a gentle kiss on his chin. “You’re the most insufferable moron I’ve ever met.”

He smiles and closes his eyes. “Goodnight.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” you point out.

“If you insist on being such a dick about it, then alright. Good afternoon. Now go to sleep.”

“Fine, fine.”

You can tell he actually falls asleep when his arms instinctively tighten around you.

You don’t mind at all.


End file.
